The front rows began to see it too.
The whispers ignited like water hitting hot oil—a sharp sizzle, then a rapid spread into an uproar that could no longer be contained.
Someone adjusted the moonstone lantern. The pale beam tightened, centering on the carved wooden chest in Kael's hands.
No silver-tribute inside. No den-grant tokens. Nothing of value.
Just five chicken butts.
Cleaned and cooked, they gleamed with that distinctive pale-yellow sheen of braised meat. Arranged in a perfect circle on the white silk lining at the bottom of the chest.
Each one plump. Glistening with oil.
